Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel by J.V. Roberts Page A

trying to make it. You can thank him for taking care of the ones that were trying to beat down our door.”
    “And you can also blame me for this new plan. It was my idea, Jersean is just letting ya’ll know about it; don’t kill the messenger.”
    “I’ll tell you right now, I ain’t going back out that fucking window.” She folds her arms and sits down.
    I shrug. “Then don’t. But the rest of you need to listen up. We need to gather as many sheets, curtains, and clothes as we can and pile them by the window. Anything made of fabric, get it, and bring it over by the window.”
    “You gonna tell us what this is about?” one of the men asks.
    “We’re gonna throw it outside and make ourselves a fire. Those snipers won’t be able to see shit through the smoke. It’ll give us a chance to get behind the dumpster and make our next move.”
    Silence falls across the hall. They’re munching over my words. I’m really hoping they don’t spit them back at me.
    “Well, alright then, I’m in,” declares the man.
    More voices immediately join his.
    “Me too!”
    “I’m in!”
    “Hell, I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”
    “Alright then, let’s get to work.”
    Everyone in the hall stands and immediately picks a door. The air is suddenly clogged with something that sounds like hope; voices rising with excitement, furniture being picked apart and kicked aside, people with purpose that, moments ago, had none.
    Alisa pulls at my shirt. “Dad, what do you want me to do?”
    “You stay right here by me.”
    Jersean is walking towards us, cradling our weapons, working his way through the bodies hustling back and forth across the hall. “Guess I should give these back to you folks.” He hands over the rifle, the pistol, the hatchet, and the ammo to go along with it.
    The pile of plunder by the window is growing quickly.
    Jersean chuckles. “Maybe they shoulda put your ass in charge; you sure got em’ moving.”
    “Nah, I just gave them something to do. Idle hands are a bad thing; makes you feel like you’re already dead. This right here, it gives a little burst of purpose. Purpose equals life. It’s like someone digging their own grave.”
    “Come again?”
    “You ever wonder why folks are willing to dig their own graves, you know, like in movies and shit?”
    Jersean shakes his head. “It’s just a movie.”
    “Nah, but it came from somewhere. It makes sense, if you think about it. I mean, if you refuse, you’re pretty much accepting death right then and there. They’re just gonna shoot you in the back of the head and dig it themselves. But if you dig it, you’re postponing death. You got yourself some time. You’re thinking that maybe they’ll change their minds, or maybe someone will come along to save you, or maybe you’ll come up with a plan on how to save yourself. It’s purpose. It’s hope.”
    Jersean still looks confused. “So these folks are digging their own graves?”
    “No, damn it…just forget it.”
    “Hey, man, you said it.” He pulls out another cigarette and sets a flame to it.
    “How much fluid you got left in that thing?”
    He turns the lighter upside down against the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. “More than enough.”
    “Good, let’s keep it that way. Last cigarette till we get our feet on the ground.”
    Jersean gives a lazy salute. “Sir, yes sir!”
    Two teenage boys come shoving through the middle of everyone, yelling and waving their hands to get our attention.
    “Look what we found!”
    One of them holds up a blue, plastic kerosene container.
    “Ah shit,” Jersean says, “is it full?”
    “Just about,” the boy says, shaking it back and forth.
    Some people, usually the elderly, own kerosene heaters. We don’t see much of a winter around here, but the months we do see can get brutal. Two years ago, the city shut down for four days after an ice storm blew through.
    I take the kerosene can. “I think I’ve got an idea on how we’re gonna use